


Dream a Little Dream

by track_04



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Pirates, Alternate Universe - Regency, Clothed Sex, Crossdressing, Dreams, F/F, Misses Clause Challenge, Vaginal Fingering, Yuleporn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-21 11:05:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17042540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/track_04/pseuds/track_04
Summary: “She?” Elena gave her a curious look. “You think it was a woman?”“Yes. The witness said that the voice they heard speaking with Bauer out on the balcony sounded female, and we already know there are a decent number of female assassins operating—”“Maybe it’s your dream woman,” Elena said, giving her a cheeky grin.“No, she’s—” Eve started, then stopped when she noticed Elena’s smile widening. She took a deep breath and rolled her eyes. “Of course it’s not. That would be crazy.”





	Dream a Little Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sporkmetender](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sporkmetender/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide!

Eve ignored the look that Elena gave her as she sat down at her desk, half an hour late and more than a little worse for the wear. 

“Late night?” Elena asked, voice annoyingly chipper.

Eve dumped her handbag on the floor by her feet and glared at her half-heartedly, too tired to even manage that properly. “I slept through my alarm.”

“You’re getting too old to be having that much wine with dinner, you know.”

“Screw you,” Eve said affectionately, reaching up to try to gather the wild tangle of her hair into a bun. “I’ll have you know I didn’t have any wine with dinner last night.”

“Really?” 

“Yes, really. I just had trouble sleeping last night. I had this weird dream that woke me up and then it took me forever to get back to sleep.” She finished with her hair and dropped her arms, already exhausted. 

“What, like a nightmare?”

“Not really a nightmare. It was just—I don’t know. There was this woman in it, and the way she looked at me was really intense.”

Elena leaned forward against her desk, voice dropping to a whisper. “Was this a dirty dream?”

“What? No! It wasn’t dirty, it was just...weird.”

“Weird how? Aside from the intensely staring woman. Who you did absolutely nothing the slightest bit dirty with.”

Eve considered getting up and walking away, but the thought of leaving her chair was even less appealing than talking about this. 

“You know that feeling you get sometimes when you read about a new case, and even before you finish getting all the details, you _know_ there’s something about it you’ve seen somewhere before?” Eve paused, took in Elena’s slightly confused look, and then plowed onward. “It was like that, but with a person. I’d never seen her before in my life, but there was a part of me that knew her. Or some idea of her, anyway. And when she looked at me, it was like she knew everything about me, too.” 

“That’s the feeling you get when you read about a new case?” 

“Yes? I mean, not all of them. But sometimes, when they really grab my attention—”

Elena arched an eyebrow. “Well, that explains why you got all weird when you heard about that Austrian diplomat who fell off a balcony and wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks afterwards.”

“Because that clearly wasn’t an accident! The person in the room below hers said that they heard her talking to someone outside, right before she fell and—okay, you may have a point.”

“I bet you have a file on it and everything.”

“No—of course not.” Eve slid the folder with everything she’d managed to compile on the case to the other side of her desk as subtly as possible. “Besides, it’s not like there’s anything wrong with being dedicated.”

“Right. So, have you figured out who did it yet?”

“No, obviously.” Eve shrugged. “I mean, I have a few theories, but nothing matches up with any known assassins that we have on file. And whoever she is, she’s really good, so that makes it hard—”

“She?” Elena gave her a curious look. “You think it was a woman?”

“Yes. The witness said that the voice they heard speaking with Bauer out on the balcony sounded female and we already know there are a decent number of female assassins operating—”

“Maybe it’s your dream woman,” Elena said, giving her a cheeky grin.

“No, she’s—” Eve started, then stopped when she noticed Elena’s smile widening. She took a deep breath and rolled her eyes. “Of course it’s not. That would be crazy.”

“Just a bit.” Elena turned her attention back to her computer screen and reached for her keyboard. “Can I make a suggestion?”

Eve sighed. “Can I stop you?”

“Have some wine with dinner tonight.”

\--

The dream started with Eve standing in the middle of the woods, ankle-deep in snow and her feet surprisingly warm. She looked down at her boots and tried to remember if she’d seen them before—if she’d seen these woods before—or if the feeling of familiarity that this place gave her was just the usual sense of knowing that came with dreams.

She lifted her head and looked around the woods, searching for something to tell her who she was or what she was doing here, but there was nothing to see except trees and snow and the kinds of things that you’d expect to find in a forest, all totally unhelpful to her current situation.

It didn’t really matter, though, since the dream had started to creep in on her consciousness again, giving her that strange double-awareness where she both was and wasn’t herself. 

The part of her that wasn’t Eve told her that moving forward and doing what she’d come here to do was important, so she started to walk forward through the woods, trying to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to alert anyone or anything that might be lurking among the trees to her presence. Her breath curled in front of her in warm puffs and, not for the first time since she'd left her home, she wondered if it wouldn't have been better to just stay inside, tucked away under her pile of blankets, soft and warm and safe.

But she knew that she wouldn’t have been able to even if she had stayed at home. So, maybe it was worth braving the cold.

She stopped when she reached the treeline, selecting an oak that was as broad as she was tall and crouching behind it; her vantage point gave her a clear view of Henry's farm and the paddock where his sheep were huddled together for warmth.

She could hear them making the soft sounds they usually made in their sleep, and the part of her that didn’t belong here wondered how in the hell she knew what sounds sheep made when they slept. The closest she’d ever gotten to a farm was the dairy aisle at the supermarket. 

A twig snapped somewhere in the darkness, and she froze, holding herself completely still and listening.

After a few moments, she rested a hand against the tree and leaned over the peer around it into the dark, aware that the full moon that made it easier for her to see also meant it was easier for her to be seen. She just hoped that whatever else was out here wasn’t looking for her, too. 

In spite of her insistence that the rash of sheep disappearing from local farms was the work of humans and not wolves—or even werewolves, as Harry liked to insist, like the idiot he was—there was a small part of her that was afraid she’d find something with sharp teeth and a hunger for human flesh waiting for her in the dark. 

Not that she was ever going to admit that to anyone. Ever.

The silhouette that she spotted crouched in the dark a few feet away from her was small and hunched and had fur covering its shoulders; for just a moment, it actually did look like it might be a wolf. Until it shifted and started to creep towards her, and it became obvious from the way its limbs moved that it could only be human.

It moved out of the deeper shadows and she could make out the edges of the fur cloak it had draped over its head and shoulders, making the figure look less human and more beast-like. Part of her was almost impressed. No wonder everyone who’d seen it had insisted that the thing that carried their prize sheep off into the night had to be some sort of beast, despite the clear outline of very human footprints Eve had found in the snow. 

Eve was so busy marvelling at the thief’s choice of attire that she failed to notice the exact moment when the stranger spotted her. By the time she realized, the figure was a foot away from her, launching itself at her and slamming her back against the tree. It pinned her there and clamped a hand over her mouth.

She started to struggle, but felt the cold steel of a knife against her throat and froze, holding herself still and staring at the stranger with wide, terrified eyes. 

The figure reached up, pushing Eve’s hood back to reveal her face and the wild tangle of her hair where it had escaped its plait, loose strands curling around her face. The figure made a soft sound, a mixture of surprise and approval, and ran fingers over Eve’s hair for a moment before reaching up to push back its own hood, revealing smooth skin and catlike eyes and an expression that was more amused than hostile.

And also very clearly belonged to a woman.

“I’m going to uncover your mouth, and you’re not going to scream,” the woman said in accented English. She waited for Eve’s hesitant nod and then removed her hand. “Better?”

Eve considered screaming for help, but the woman pressed the knife in briefly, just enough to remind her of its presence. She waited for the knife to retreat enough for her to swallow and answered in a rough whisper, “It would be better without the knife, but yes. Thank you.”

The woman laughed, clearly delighted, and smiled at Eve in a way that made it impossible to look away. “I like you. What’s your name?”

“Eve,” she said, the shape of it feeling strange in her mouth, like it wasn’t quite what she’d meant to say.

“Nice name.” She reached up, brushing Eve’s hair away from her face, the touch an odd counterpoint to the knife still pressed against her throat. It sent a thrill through Eve that she tried not to examine too deeply. “What are you doing out here in the woods all alone?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“This is a dangerous way to try to cure your insomnia.” She leaned forward until Eve could feel the hot puff of her breath against her skin and said in an exaggerated whisper, “Someone told me there are wolves in these woods. They’ve been stealing everyone’s sheep.”

“You don’t look like much of a wolf to me.” Bill was always telling her that her mouth would get her into trouble, but she hadn’t expected it to happen in the woods with a strange woman who smelled of wood smoke and damp fur and had beautiful eyes. 

“Are you sure? I could be a werewolf.”

Eve rolled her eyes. “You’re not a werewolf. You’re a thief who likes to wear furs so that some people who don’t know any better _think_ you’re a werewolf. Which is a good strategy, all things considered.”

“You think so?” 

“It seems to have worked so far. So, yeah, I’d say it’s pretty good.”

“Thank you.” She leaned in even closer, voice low like she was sharing a great secret. “Just for that, I won’t kill you. As long as you don’t follow me.”

“I can’t just let you—”

“I mean, you can try to stop me if you really want, but I wouldn’t recommend it. I don’t think it would end well for you.” She pressed the blade of the knife in closer, a reminder that it was there. 

Eve swallowed, remembering the way everyone had written her off when she insisted it was a person and not a wolf (or werewolf) stealing everyone’s sheep. There was a part of her that wanted to see their faces when they found out she was right, but there was a larger part of her that wanted to live. Maybe it was enough to know that she’d been right, even if no one else did.

“Okay.” She nodded slowly, waiting until the other woman pulled the knife away from her throat to ask, “If I promise not to follow you, will you do one thing for me?”

The stranger hummed thoughtfully and tapped the knife blade against her thigh. “Probably not, but I won’t kill you for asking.”

“There’s a ram that he keeps in a separate pen in his barn. Make sure you take it.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because he’s a dick and that sheep is his favorite.” Eve lifted her chin, looking the other woman full in the eye. “And it will be worth the most when you sell it, which is what I’m pretty sure you’ve been doing.”

“Beautiful and smart. I like that.” 

Eve blushed and looked away. “Also, if you could find another village to terrorize after this, I’d appreciate it.” 

"No promises." She laughed and pressed a kiss to Eve’s cheek, lips brushing her skin as she whispered, “I like this village. And now I have a reason to come back for another visit.”

Eve closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, the woman was gone, the only sign that she’d ever been there the warmth lingering against Eve’s cheek.

—

“Here. You look like you could use this.”

“You have no idea how much I love you right now.” Eve made a greedy noise and reached up to snatch the chocolate bar out of Bill’s hand. “Have I told you lately that you’re the best boss in existence?”

“I don’t think you’ve ever told me that,” Bill said, taking a seat in the empty chair across from her. “I may have to buy you chocolate more often if it means I actually get some respect around here.”

“I think I’d be willing to make that trade.” Eve opened the wrapper and broke off a piece, shoving it into her mouth with a contented sigh. “So, what is this really about?”

“That obvious, was I?” Bill reached out, breaking off a piece of chocolate for himself.

“Hey!”

“If we’re going to have a heart-to-heart, I’m going to need some chocolate, too,” Bill said and popped it into his mouth.

Eve took a bite directly from the bar this time, staring at Bill as she chewed. “Listen, if this is about Frank’s new thing for ‘interpersonal communication’, you know I’m more than willing to lie and tell him you evaluate us on a bi-annual basis and buy us coffee every day and we sit around singing kumbaya while we fill out paperwork or whatever it is that he wants to hear.”

Bill looked genuinely offended. “I already know you can lie to Frank when needed. It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

“Then what’s this about?”

“You’ve looked a bit tired lately. Tired enough for me to notice, anyway, which means that things must be rather dire.”

It was Eve’s turn to look offended this time. “Are you telling me I look like shit?”

“No, I’m merely implying it.” Bill narrowed his eyes, face serious in a way that always made Eve a bit uncomfortable. “Should I be worried?”

“I’m fine,” Eve said, shaking her head when Bill’s expression didn’t change. “Really. Things have just been busy with all the work we’re doing on the Collado detail, and I have trouble sleeping sometimes when I’m stressed. Strange dreams—you know how it is.”

“I could always have Elena finish up things for Collado if it will help.”

“No! Elena has enough to do on her own. And all that’s left at this point is wrapping up loose ends, anyway.”

“Well, that’s good to hear then.” He glanced at the stack of files on the corner of her desk and gave her a knowing look. “And what about this extra project I let you work on in your free time? You haven’t been staying late to work on that, have you?”

“Of course not," Eve said. She didn’t need to stay late to work on it because she had copies of everything waiting for her at home. “I’m fine, really. Give me a week and you’ll be back to not noticing how tired I am anymore.”

He watched her for a moment, eyes uncomfortably shrewd, and then nodded and rose from the chair. “Right. Just make sure you don’t start looking worse in the meantime, or I might be forced to take drastic measures.”

Eve made a face at his back as he turned to walk away, letting him take a few steps before she called out, “Hey, Bill?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

He gave her a wave over his shoulder and kept walking. “It’s the least I can do. If you quit or have a breakdown, I’ll have to hire someone else, and I hate doing interviews.”

Eve waited until he was gone to finish her chocolate bar, tossing the empty wrapper in the trash before she reached for the stack of folders on the edge of her desk. She opened the top one to read through it one more time, just to see if there was something she might have missed.

\--

The dream started with Eve on a boat, feeling tired and sea sick and half-regretting her decision to ever leave land.

The deck of the ship shifted below her feet, making her stumble forward, against the back of the man standing in front of her. He turned and gave her a dirty look with his one good eye, waiting until she’d righted herself before raising a fist and beating on the door in front of them. 

Eve glared at his back and didn’t point out that her hands were currently tied together in front of her, so she couldn’t exactly grab onto anything to steady herself. It wasn’t like she wanted to fall face-first into the back of someone who smelled like armpits and old fish.

“Oy, Captain! One of our _guests_ wants to talk to ‘ye.”

Eve arched an eyebrow, thinking that there was no way that pirates—because she was pretty sure that was what he was—actually talked like that. The part of her that belonged here thought that he didn’t sound so different from the other sailors who frequented her father’s alehouse.

Or _her_ alehouse now, she supposed.

The door opened and the man put a hand on her arm and pushed her inside, nearly clipping her heels as he slammed it shut behind her. She turned to glare at the pock-marked wood and the ship gave another violent heave beneath her, making her pitch forward. Her knees hit the deck and she swore loudly, closing her eyes in some misguided notion that it would help her ignore the pain.

A voice, soft and sultry and decidedly female, asked her something in French.

She opened her eyes and lifted her head, looking around for its source. It didn’t take long, given how shockingly small the cabin was—but still bigger than any of the other quarters on this ship, a small voice in the back of her head chimed in—her eyes finding the woman seated on the room’s lone wooden chair almost instantly. 

She said something else, still in French, and Eve frowned.

“I don’t speak French.”

The woman sighed and rolled her eyes, leaning forward to rest her elbows against her knees. She was dressed in something that looked like the drab version of the outfits Eve remembered seeing on the creepy mannequins on the Pirates of the Carribean ride when she was eleven. 

“I said that looked painful.”

No shit, Eve thought, but didn’t risk saying it out loud. She had things she wanted to accomplish here, and being openly hostile wouldn’t help with them. Even if it was tempting. “I’ve had worse.”

“Really? You don’t look the type.” The pirate laughed and reached up, pulling off her hat and dropping it onto the floor beside her. Her hair fell loose around her face, long and honey-colored and so soft-looking that a small, deeply confusing part of Eve wanted to touch it. She’d obviously been out to sea too long.

“Yeah, well, I’m just full of surprises.”

“Obviously. I mean, you asked to talk to me. Most people aren’t open to chatting after I take them captive and burn their ship.” She reached forward, brushing a strand of hair out of Eve’s eyes. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

Eve shifted so that she was as upright as she was going to get and met the woman’s eyes, taking a deep breath. “A business proposition. As in, I want you to go into business with me.”

The captain stared at Eve for a long, breathless moment and Eve stared back, straightfaced. Just when the silence was getting to be too much, she threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, that’s a good one—I haven’t heard that one before! Tell me, what sort of business would we have?”

Eve frowned. The captain was annoyingly pretty when she smiled. “Not a business, really. Just an arrangement.”

“Okay, then. What sort of _arrangement_ would we have?”

“I own an alehouse—”

“Oh, so you want booze. I’ve never had a hostage ask me to sell them booze before.” She slapped a hand against her thigh. “I’ll tell you what—if I don’t decide to toss you overboard before we make port, I’ll give you whatever shitty booze we’ve got leftover down in the hold for free.”

“I don’t want booze,” Eve snapped, lifting her hands to push the hair out of her eyes before she remembered they were still bound together and dropped them in frustration. 

The captain reached out, brushing it back for her and tucking it behind her ear. “Then tell me want you want. I might even say yes, if you really impress me.”

Eve turned her head to stare at the wall. “I need people to rent rooms and buy food and booze. Things weren’t great when my father was—when he was running things, but now that he’s gone it’s worse.”

“Sounds like you have a boring alehouse.”

“It’s not—okay, it may be slightly boring. But it’s still mine, and I need customers.”

“And you want me to be your customer?”

“You and your crew.” Eve turned back to look at her, chin held high. “And I want you to put a good word in with some of the other...sailors you know.”

“You can say pirates, you know.” The captain sat back and crossed her arms over his chest, her expression less manic and more thoughtful. “What’s in it for me?”

“A place to hide out when you need it. And a cut of my profits.”

She arched one delicate eyebrow. “And what if I already have a place to hide out and drink?”

“You don’t. Not since the last place you used burned down after you had a disagreement with the owner. And now no one else wants your business.” Eve felt her lips twitch, a thrill going through her at the genuine surprise written on the other woman’s face. “I asked around.”

“And now you just happen to be on my ship. What a coincidence.”

Eve shrugged. “I found a passenger ship that fit your usual criteria heading into your territory. And then I just had to try not to get killed. And convince one of your crew to bring me here to talk to you.”

“Bold. And a bit stupid. I like it.” She smiled. “I want three shillings every month. And a room with a lock on the door, just for me—you don’t rent it to anyone else. And I’ll still throw in whatever shitty booze we have in the hold for free.”

Eve did a quick run through of the figures in her head and lifted her bound hands, awkwardly trying to offer one to shake. “It’s a deal.”

The captain eyed her hands, but didn’t take them. “If you’re going to be my business partner, I need to know your name.”

“You can call me Eve. What should I call you?”

“Captain will be fine for now.” She reached out, pushing more of Eve’s hair out of her face and cupping her cheek. “Now that we’re on a first name basis, I guess I should ask you to stay for dinner.”

Eve swallowed and looked down at her hands. “I wouldn’t mind some of that shitty booze you mentioned.”

“If you behave yourself, I’ll give you some of the good stuff that I keep hidden in my cabin. It will be our secret.” The captain pulled her hand away and Eve shivered, despite the almost oppressive mid-summer heat surrounding them. 

The captain reached forward, untying the ropes around Eve’s wrists and stood, stretching her arms over her head in a way that seemed to accentuate the curves of her body. Eve watched her, gaze trailing upwards to the captain’s face. When their eyes met, she smiled knowingly and gave Eve a wink.

“I guess I should get you that drink.”

“Thanks. I think I could use one,” Eve said, unable to decide if the journey back to port was going to be too long or not nearly long enough.

\--

“Oh, Eve. I didn’t expect you to be here this late.”

Eve looked up from her computer screen, blinking at Carolyn a bit stupidly. “What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping I might find Kenny, actually.”

“Kenny?” Eve started to look around and stopped, scrubbing a hand over her face. “Sorry, I’ve been at this for awhile and—he’s not here. Does he usually stay this late?”

“Occasionally. He gets a bit caught up in his work and forgets the time.”

“You guys have worked together for awhile, haven’t you?”

“You could say that,” Carolyn said, frowning slightly at Eve. “Why are you still here? I would have thought you’d have gone home by now.”

Eve shrugged, motioning to the board covering the wall behind her. “I guess I just got a bit distracted.”

“Easy to do.” Carolyn walked over to stand in front of the wall, hands clutched behind her back. “Have you added to this?”

“A little. Just a few details I thought might be relevant.”

Carolyn nodded, wearing an expression that might have meant she was impressed with Eve’s performance. It also might have meant she was trying to remember whether or not she’d remembered to pick up her dry cleaning. Eve was still learning to tell the difference. “You seem to be settling in nicely.”

“Thanks. I mean, I hope I am.”

“You know, I had no real training when I started, either. But I always managed to be good at it. I think maybe it was because I just love it so much. It’s all I ever think about, really.” Carolyn smiled, a slight quirk of her lips that was there and gone again before Eve could fully register its presence. “I get the same feeling from you.”

“Thank you. I mean, I hope I’m good at what I do. And that I can keep doing it for as long as you have. This is all a dream come true.”

“Yes, well, the thing to remember about dreams is that sometimes reality doesn’t quite live up to them.”

Eve’s gaze moved to the board behind Carolyn, tracing the lines of red string, a pattern that part of her had already memorized. “I’ll try to remember that.”

\--

The dream started with Eve in a ball room, standing in the middle of a crowd of people in fancy, old-fashioned dress. They moved around her in an elaborate series of dips and bows that she both did and didn’t understand. The crowd changed direction around her and she stumbled and almost fell, but a man dressed like Mr. Darcy caught her elbow and helped keep her upright.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine! I’m fine. Too much to drink, I guess,” she said, shaking off his hand and ignoring the slightly scandalized look he gave her. “I think I’ll just go get some air.”

“That might be wise.”

She took a deep breath and started to make her way out from the circle of dancers, mumbling apologies and ignoring the trail of whispers behind her. The part of her that hadn’t fallen asleep on her couch with the TV still on and Villanelle’s file resting against her stomach stopped when she finally made it to the edge of the crowd and lifted her head, searching for a familiar, outlandishly red suitcoat. 

It took several precious minutes, but she caught sight of it as it disappeared through a side door into one of the house’s many halls, a bright flash of color that was there and gone again, like a bird flitting past the edge of her vision.

She followed it, winding her way through the crowd of onlookers sharing gossip about the dancers behind upraised hands. She lifted up her skirts so she didn’t trip on them in her haste and tried not to make too much of a scene in her rush to make it to the hallway before the coat and its wearer disappeared completely.

The air in the hall felt significantly less stifling as she managed to make her way free of the crowd and caught a glimpse of a set of red coattails disappearing around a bend at the far end of the corridor. She hurried toward it, at a half-run by the time she turned the corner herself, no longer worried about attracting unwanted attention. 

There was no red waiting for her there, but the hall lead to a side staircase, so she followed it upwards, moving as quietly as her dress would allow. 

She paused when she reached the landing and grabbed a heavy-looking statue of a fawn from a nearby table, thinking it might be useful if she needed to defend herself. She gripped it by its neck and stayed as still and silent as she could manage, listening until she heard the sound of footsteps further down the hall. Peering around the corner cautiously, she saw the figure in the red coat—tall and slender and beautiful enough in profile that it made her breath catch with more than fear—disappearing through the door to Sir Fulton’s study. 

Eve crept down the hallway to that same door and stopped outside it, taking a deep breath and adjusted her grip on the statue before she reached for the handle. When she opened it, the figure in the red coat was reclining against the edge of Sir Fulton’s desk, arms crossed over its chest and a wicked grin on its face.

“I was almost afraid you weren’t going to follow me.”

Eve froze, one hand still clinging to the door handle, the other ineffectually clutching the fawn. In all the times that she’d imagined this moment and finally tracking down this woman—and she was certain now that she was a woman, despite the pains she’d gone through to conceal that fact—she’d always pictured catching her off-guard, telling her that she knew all about her crimes, possibly heroically saving the life of the poor, unwitting soul that she was currently targetting. She'd never once expected her to know that Eve was coming.

She had no idea how to react to the reality of the situation.

The woman arched one elegant eyebrow at her. Her voice held an accent that Eve couldn’t quite place as she spoke. “You should shut the door. Unless you’d like someone else to join us.”

Eve swallowed and shut the door quietly behind her, then turned to eye the other woman warily. The statue still clutched in one sweaty hand suddenly felt like more of a burden than a protection. “Are you going to kill me?”

“That depends on why you’re following me.” The woman’s voice was soft, more curious than hostile as she waited for Eve’s answer.

Eve stared at her, suddenly wishing she were closer so she could peel away pieces of the woman’s disguise to see what lay beneath. “I know who you are.”

“I doubt that. If you knew who I was, you wouldn’t have followed me.” She laughed, standing and leaning forward in a mock-bow, lifting one white-gloved hand and holding it out in offering. “Are you sure you didn’t just follow me because you wanted a dance?”

“There’s no music,” Eve said a bit stupidly, staring at the fingers of that outstretched hand. Part of her wanted to reach out to take it. Instead, she blurted out, “All those deaths—the duke, the spinster heiress from Kent, the wealthy French businessman visiting his cousin—they were all you.”

“Me? Those were all unfortunate accidents. Or old age, in the case of the heiress. Poor thing.” 

“That’s certainly what you wanted everyone to think.” Eve lifted her chin. “But I know the truth.”

“Are you sure you don’t want that dance?” She waited for Eve to shake her head before she lowered her hand and straightened with a disappointed sigh. “Some other time, then.”

“That’s it? You’re not going to deny it?”

“Seems a bit pointless. We both know you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Of course not. Because I'm right.”

She shrugged and took a step forward, smiling when Eve took a stumbling step back, trying to maintain the distance between them. “If I’d known you were watching me that closely, I would have put on more of a show.”

“Oh, bullshit,” Eve said, the part of her that didn’t quite fit here slipping through. “You knew I was watching you. You wanted me to follow you.”

She moved forward more quickly then, catching Eve off-guard and backing her up against the door, pinning the hand still holding the statue to the wood as she pressed their bodies close together. “It probably would be in my best interest to kill you. But I don’t think I will.”

Eve suppressed a shiver. “Why not?”

She reached up with her free hand, twirling one of the curls framing Eve’s face around her finger. “Because I like your hair. And because no one would believe you even if you told them. Which you haven’t.”

“I could have—”

“You haven’t.” She moved her finger from Eve’s hair to trace the corner of her mouth. “Because if you really wanted someone to catch me, all you’d have to do is scream and someone would hear and come running. But I don’t think you will.”

Eve opened her mouth, intent on proving her wrong, but the woman chose that moment to lean forward and seal their mouths together in a kiss. The scream that Eve had meant to make turned into a moan, surprised and a bit indignant at first, then fading into something hungry, almost desperate the longer the woman lingered.

When she finally pulled away, Eve was breathless, all thoughts of crying out for help—even if it was only to wipe the smug look off the other woman’s face—gone. She stared at the woman’s mouth, still so close to her own, and tried to think of a retort. “What do you want from me?”

“A dance,” she said, hand moving from Eve’s hair to grip her waist lightly through her dress. “Don’t you want that, too?”

“We still don’t have any music.”

She leaned in, running her lips against the shell of Eve’s ear and whispered, “We can make our own.”

Eve swallowed, hand tightening around the neck of the statue as she imagined swinging it upward, knocking the woman away from her and then running for help. She could still be the hero of the story. All she had to do was make a choice.

The woman moved her mouth to Eve's cheek, mouth hot where she pressed it against her skin.

Eve let go of the statue, listening to the soft thud it made when it hit the floor, then turned her head to capture the woman’s mouth with her own. 

The woman made an approving noise and slid her tongue past Eve’s lips, releasing her wrist so Eve could cling to her, clutching at the fabric of her gaudy red coat and trying to pull her even closer. She ran her hand from Eve’s waist down to her thigh, giving it an appreciative squeeze before she started to work her dress and petticoat upwards to get at the skin beneath.

Eve broke the kiss at the first brush of that gloved hand against her bare skin and tilted her head back, a mixture of horror and excitement written on her face. “We shouldn’t—”

“You’re right,” the woman said and removed her hand, lifting it to grip the tip of one of her gloves between her teeth so she could slip it off. That done, she let it drop to the floor and slid her hand beneath Eve’s dress again. She traced a path with her fingers up to Eve’s hip and then back down her thigh, making a soft, contented noise as Eve shivered against her. “That’s much better, isn't it?”

Eve tightened her grip on her coat, her entire body tensing as those fingers moved to the inside of her thigh and drifted slowly upwards. She gave a soft gasp when they found their target, slipping between her legs and moving against her in small, practiced circles. She shifted against the door, ignoring the way it rattled against the frame, holding the woman’s gaze as one of those fingers slid inside of her.

“Maybe we don’t need any music after all,” she whispered as she slid a second finger alongside the first.

Eve moaned and rocked her hips forward, taking her deeper, biting her lip in an effort not to cry out again. The woman rewarded her by sliding her thumb up, rubbing right where she needed it most.

Eve spread her legs and rocked her hips forward, squeezing her eyes shut as her body tightened, the woman’s fingers thrusting roughly inside of her as she worked her to completion.

The woman trailed kisses up her neck, pausing occasionally to nip lightly at her skin, and Eve grabbed her hair—her real hair cut short, it seemed, and not a wig—and pulled her head upward for one last kiss. She returned it and pulled her hand free, letting Eve’s petticoat and dress slip down to cover her again.

When she pulled away, taking a step back from Eve to put some distance between them, she seemed almost reluctant. “I’d love to stay, but I have somewhere very important that I need to be.”

Eve started to reach for her, then pulled her hand back to herself, trying to think of a way to have this and still be a hero, too. “What about you? You didn’t—”

“Next time,” she said, stooping to retrieve her glove from the floor, pulling it back on and the bottom of her coat a few tugs to straighten it. “Now you owe me one.”

“If I asked, would you promise not to kill anyone tonight?”

“Would you believe me if I said yes?”

“No.”

“Then I won’t bother to lie.” Her smile was knowing as she turned, crossing the room to the far window. She opened it and turned, giving Eve a final mock-bow. “Be sure you straighten yourself up before you go back downstairs.”

And with that, she climbed through the window and was gone into the night, leaving Eve standing alone, staring at the open window and wondering what would happen if she followed her.

\--

“Find anything interesting?”

“Not really. But I am realizing that Russian prisons are even worse than I thought they would be.” Kenny peered at her over the top of the monitor. “What about you?”

“Apparently I’m not the only one Villanelle’s wooed with expensive clothing and perfume.” She let the door swing shut behind her and held up a pair of paper bags with as much triumph as she could muster. “I brought dinner.”

Kenny perked up at that, reaching out to take one of the bags from her, looking a bit surprised as he opened it up and peered inside. “Doughnuts?”

“And beer,” Eve said, setting the second bag on the desktop with a soft thunk. “I panicked a bit and grabbed the first two things that seemed familiar.”

Kenny pulled a doughnut from the bag and shrugged. “Works for me.”

Eve handed him a beer and grabbed one of her own, her eyes drawn to the footage on the computer screen, eyes immediately searching for any sign of Villanelle. She waited to feel that tug in the right direction that always seemed to come just before she found the Villanelle of her dreams, but it never came. Disappointed, she reached out to take a doughnut from the other bag.

They ate in silence, watching the little squares of footage for any sign of a familiar face. Eve was done with her doughnut and halfway through her first beer when Kenny turned to her and asked, “Do you ever think about quitting?”

She gave him a curious look. “No, not really. Why?”

“Just curious, I guess. I mean, I do. Think about quitting sometimes, that is. But I wouldn’t really know where to go if I did, so I don’t think I’d ever actually do it. And then there’s my mum.” He shrugged. “But you’ve been other places before this. It would be easy for you to find something else if you tried.”

“Probably, but I wouldn’t want to.” She glanced back at the monitor, still disappointed not to feel that familiar tug in her gut, and then back at him. “I honestly think this is what I was meant to do. If I couldn’t do it here, I’d—I don’t know. Figure out a way to do it on my own, I guess.”

Kenny nodded, his face thoughtful. “What do you think will happen when we find her?”

“I don’t know,” she said, surprised by the thrill that realization gave her. She thought about all the ways that she’d managed to find Villanelle in her dreams, all the things they had and hadn’t said to each other. She hoped that the next time she caught up with her it would be just a little bit different than the last. “I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.”

\--

The dream started with Eve lying on the bed in Villanelle’s apartment, staring at her across the covers, her hand already inching toward the knife tucked into her waistband.

She froze, still able to feel the determination she’d felt the first time, thrilling and awful and something she’d enjoyed right up to the moment she sunk the knife into Villanelle’s stomach.

“Will you stay for a bit?” Villanelle asked and reached up to touch her hair. 

In all the dreams she’d had, she couldn’t remember any others where Villanelle had asked her to stay. 

Something about that thought felt wrong, though, like part of her knew it wasn’t true; for the first time, she wondered about all the other moments with all those other Eves and Villanelles that she hadn’t been able to see. Maybe this wasn’t the first time things had gone badly for them, either. 

Villanelle gave her a look that was both fond and expectant. “This is the part where you say, ‘sure.’”

Eve shook her head and pulled her still-empty hand away from her waistband, leaving the knife where it was, the handle cold against her skin. “I can’t.”

“Of course you can.” Villanelle propped her head on one hand and reached out with the other, brushing the hair back from her face. “It’s not that difficult.”

“You don’t understand—”

She laughed. “What’s to understand? You say sure, make me think I’m going to get to have sex with you, and then you stab me. You’ve done it all before.”

“What?”

“Is that not how you remember it? Because that’s how I remember it.” She placed one hand on the other side of Eve’s head and leaned in like she was going to kiss her. “It was just like this, wasn’t it?”

Eve stared up at her, waiting for that feeling in her gut that would tell her what to do. But there was no other Eve there to steer her in the right direction, because this wasn’t someone else’s memory. It was hers, and she knew what she had to do; she’d already done it once before.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

Eve’s fingers twitched and she squeezed her hand into a fist, thinking about how easy it would be to just do what she was supposed to. She knew what would happen if she took that path again, had seen where it would lead her. 

Villanelle stared at her expectantly, waiting for the inevitable. When Eve reached down and pulled the knife out of her waistband, Villanelle smiled.

“See? I told you it wasn’t that hard.”

“Shut up,” Eve said and took a deep breath, hand shaking as she tossed the knife away from them and grabbed the back of Villanelle’s neck, pulling her down for a kiss.

Villanelle made a shocked sound and went rigid against her, lips still as Eve started to kiss her, soft and desperate.

After a long moment she pulled away, staring at Eve in confusion. “This isn’t what’s supposed to happen.”

“No, but it’s what I want to happen,” Eve said and kissed her again.

That was all it took to make Villanelle relax and start kissing her back, one hand finding its way back into Eve’s hair and the other sliding down to rest between her legs.

“Woah.” Eve gasped and pulled away just far enough to look Villanelle in the eye. “I’ve never—”

“Done anything like this before?” Villanelle finished, rubbing her through her pants. “I think we both know that’s a lie.”

Eve had the decency to look embarrassed, then immediately wondered why she was even bothering and reached down to start unbuttoning her pants. “I guess you don’t need to reassure me this time, either.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Villanelle said, pushing Eve’s hand out of the way and sliding her own down the front of Eve’s pants and into her underwear. “But I guess I can make an exception if you’re into that sort of thing.”

“No, I—this is good.” Eve closed her eyes and clutched at the back of Villanelle’s shirt, rocking her hips forward into that touch. It felt just like she remembered—self-assured and needy and just a little bit too firm—but different, too. More real, maybe.

She wondered what it would feel like to let Villanelle touch her like this when she was awake. If there was even still a possibility of that happening.

“You need to stop thinking so much,” Villanelle said, sliding a finger inside of her and smiling a little at the desperate sound that she made. “It’s kind of rude.”

“Sorry,” Eve gasped, hooking her leg over Villanelle’s and rocking her hips forward against her hand. Villanelle slid a second finger into her, using her thumb to rub her clit, and Eve reached between them, hands shaking as she struggled to unbutton Villanelle’s pants. She swore softly when she finally managed it, pushing down the zipper and shoving her hand inside.

“Finally,” Villanelle said, arching her back when Eve pushed the damp material of her underwear to one side so she could push a finger inside of her. She groaned and leaned in for another kiss.

The kiss was rougher this time, greedier and just a little bit selfish. Eve gave as good as she got, nipping at Villanelle’s lower lip hard enough to sting as she slid her finger in and out of her and pressed the heel of her hand against her clit.

It was fast and desperate and more right than anything she’d ever felt before, and she wished it could last forever, even as she felt her body tighten and heard the breathy noises that Villanelle made as she rubbed herself off on her hand. She still held out for as long as she could manage, kissing and fucking Villanelle with her fingers, drawing it out until she felt Villanelle stiffen against her.

Eve watched her face as she came, surprised at how quiet she was, like she’d been caught off guard and, for just a moment, had forgotten to put on a show. She wasn’t playing Villanelle anymore—she _was_ Villanelle. 

Eve slid her hand out of Villanelle’s pants and into her own. She wrapped her hand around Villanelle’s, guiding it where she wanted it, pushing her fingers deeper inside of her as she rocked her hips forward, rubbing herself off against the palm of her hand. It only took a few thrusts before she came, shaking and sweaty and embarrasingly loud about it. 

It took her a few minutes to calm down enough to realize that Villanelle was watching her, cheeks flushed and a wry look on her face. “I wanted to get you off.”

Eve licked her lips and pulled both of their hands out of her pants. “Technically, I think you did.”

“You know what I mean,” she said, kissing her before she rolled onto her back with a sigh. “Next time, no cheating.”

Eve stared at her profile and tried to ignore the swell of hope inside of her. “Next time?”

Villanelle shrugged. “I’d like to do this when we’re awake sometime. Once I’ve forgiven you for stabbing me, that is.”

“I’d like that, too,” Eve said, moving her hand to cover the place on Villanelle’s stomach where the stab wound should have been. “How can I find you?”

“I think I’ll let you figure it out on your own.”

“Okay.” Eve rubbed her thumb against Villanelle’s shirt and smilled. “I think I can manage that.”

“Of course you can,” Villanelle said. “You always have before.”


End file.
